Spot's Little Boid
by Macavroche
Summary: Now, how did Spot find out about the strike again? One-shot. Maybe. Spot and Race fooling around, tickling, no romance whatsoever.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Newsies. I do own the plot of this story. Most creative disclaimer ever.**

"Psst! Spot! Hey, Spot!"

Spot rolled over, mumbling and groaning. The person rolled their eyes, grinning, and shook Spot again.

"Wake up! Spot!"

Spot opened his eyes slowly, blearily... Then suddenly, he was sitting up straight, slingshot at the ready, in an apparent state of panic. When he saw who it was, he sighed in relief, relaxing.

"Jesus, Race! What're ya tryin' ta do, kill me?"

Racetrack grinned again. "Not yet."

Spot reluctantly sat up, yawning. "Whaddya want, Racey?"

Racetrack shot him a venomous look. "Don't call me that, or I might not tell you."

"Sorry," Spot replied, yawning.

"Look, I don' got much time. If Jack and the othahs wake up an' I'se heah..." Race said, glancing around nervously.

"Calm down, Race. Whatcha want?"

Race took a deep breath, removed his hat, and wrung it out in his hands, twisting it shapeless. Spot sat up a little straighter. He was NERVOUS.

"See, they raised the price an' all, ya know..."

Spot nodded. He knew. He had half his boys on his case because of it.

"An' we was talkin', and Jack was talkin', and Davey came up with this idea-"

"Wait. Who's Davey?"

"David. He's new. Used to go to school."

Spot grinned knowingly. "Runaway?"

"Nah. Still lives wit' his fam'ly. He's got a little brothah an' all, so 'e's gonna sell for a while. Support 'is fam'ly."

"Okay, okay. I don' need 'is life story."

Race grinned, slightly more at ease. "Sorry. Anyways, Jack's taken a likin' to 'im, so they'se talkin', an' we'se complainin', and Davey comes up with this idea."

"Yeah?" Spot said, fiddling with his cane. He was trying to hide hus interest, but inside, he honestly wanted to know this idea.

"They'se talkin' 'bout goin' on strike."

Strike.

Spot considered this for a moment, then got up, pacing around his little room. As leader, he had a room to himself. He walked back and forth for a few minutes, then started talking, apparently to himself, as he walked.

"What good would it do? Nuthin's gonna change. But all of New Yawk relies on us newsies. Maybe we could make a diff'rence. Ya nevah know. Jackey-boy just might be able to pull it off." Suddenly Spot stopped pacing and looked straight at Race, an amused twinkle in his eye.

"Anyone asks, this whole strike thing was my idea."

Race laughed. "Sure. Right after

I kiss Mush."

Spot looked down at Race. Even though Spot was about the same height as his friend, he had an authoritative air that made him seem taller than he was. He smiled, but it wasn't at the joke. It was his calculating smile.

"This strike thing migh' woik. Unless..."

"What?" Race asked.

Spot gave him a sideways look. "Unless you 'Hattaners're too chicken tah follah through."

Race looked up with hard eyes. "Whatcha gettin' at, Spot?"

"What if ya run the second ya see dem scabs?"

"Ya know Jack wouldn' let that happ'n," Race replied coolly. Spot grinned.

"Ouch. Ya got me theah. Sorry, Race. Ya know I'm with ya till the end. Just... If I'm a lil' hahd on Jackey-boy, don' mind nuthin', kay? I'se just makin' shuah. Don' take it too hahd."

Race grinned. "Shuah, Spot. Now, I gotta go, or Jack'll soak me!"

Spot laughed and leaned back, relaxing. "Boy, would I love to see dat."

Race grinned and gave his friend a shove. "Shuddup." Spot responded with a push of his own. This transformed into a shoving match, which Spot won unfairly by tickling Race and making the brown-haired newsie break into laughter.

"Stoppit! Spot!"

Spot grinned and let his friend up. Race was breathing hard and grinning.

"I should soak ya for dat."

"But ya won't."

"Nope." With that, Race launched himself on Spot, his fingers wiggling frantically over his ribs. Spot gave a self-satisfied smirk.

"Nice try, but I'se not ticklish."

"Oh yeah?" Race replied, moving his fingers to dig into Spot's armpits. Spot's smirk turned into a slight smile, and he made a strange coughing noise.

"Anythin' ta say, Spot?" Race taunted, as Spot's face turned red from suppressed laughter.

"Grmph," Spot replied, scrunching up his face. Race grinned and tickled harder. Spot started to giggle and squirm.

"C'mon, Spotty," Race laughed. Finally Spot burst out laughing, wiggling out of Race's grip and rolling away. His face gradually returned to a more normal color, but his breath was still coming in short gasps.

"Not... fair..."

Race grinned widely. "Wait till I tell ev'ryone dat de great Spot Conlon is ticklish!"

Spot looked up with murder in his eyes. "You wouldn't."

"I would," Race replied cheekily. Spot scrambled to his feet and chased Race around the room. Race screamed in a high-pitched voice and ran to get away from his friend. After a few moments of this, they both slowed, panting from exhaustion and laughing. Race squinted out the grimy window to a clock tower on the horizon.

"Darn it. I'se late. Ya got a private carriage or somethin' I could hitch a ride in, Spot?"

Spot frowned and shook his head.

"Nah. Money grows on trees, Race, not skyscrapers. That's why the big shots got so much cash. They got them country houses where they go tah collect money off trees. And that's why it's so scarce in New Yawk."

Race contemplated this for a moment. "You'se got a point, Spot."

Spot sat down, draping himself over a small wooden chair in a self-assured way. On anyone else, this position would look ridiculous, but it just fit Spot Conlon.

"Be seein' ya, Race."

"Shuah thing, Spot."

"Don't forget tah bring any news, kay? I likes tah keep up wit' what isn't in dem papes."

Race grinned. "Yeah. See ya." And he ducked out through the window and was gone.

Hours later, Spot was up on top of the docks, happily watching his boys leap into the freezing water. He smiled to himself, fingering the key around his neck. Suddenly he sat up a little straighter, peering at something on the edge of the docks. Jack Kelly, Boots, and some other guy were making their way towards him. He relaxed, grinning. He hadn't had a nice chat with Jacky-boy in a while.

He hopped down from his "throne", spit-shaking with Jack, talking with the Manhattaners, and generally giving the impression of a king gracing his subjects with his presence.

And all the while, a thought rotated around his brain.

"I've been expecting you."

**Well? WELL? What did you think? I love writing Race. He's so… Race. Yeah. These things always have awkward endings, don't they?**


End file.
